Day: January 13, 2021

to my soul ~

~ thereluctantpoet

tornadoday

It’s true that I have nearly 175 items in my WordPress draft folder, and on days when I need to, those provide a comfort or a kick-start to other words. I considered them first thing today, while I searched for the warmest socks in an over-stuffed basket. But when I got to my desk, I found something else, and there…..other words that needed no push in becoming.

I’m convinced that it’s not indigestion or a storm or anything quite so mundane that wakes me in the night. When it happens, I roll over, look at the clock and typically go right back to sleep. But not without smiling at the reassurance that I take in this simple (though some might call infuriating) occurrence.

While there are vast numbers of people who understand the complexity (and simplicity) of the universe, few put absolute faith in the fact that it is constantly…

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I saw the sun in your eyes..

~ thereluctantpoet

johncoyote

I saw the sun in your eyes

You and I, we are dancing by the Monterey Bay, I am singing words of love for you.
You asked me, Johnnie, why did you save me? You were swimming in confusion and you taught me to laugh and to sing again.

I told her, I love your face, I love when your hair is wild and free, I love  when your  hair is tightly in a bunn always. I love when you sing lullabies to me in the midnight hours and I love how your mouth moved when you talk.

She laughed at my words and she smiled. She told him, you are the sweetest man, you love my imperfections. You make me feel worthwhile and care for.

I told her, you bewitched my heart every time I look at your face, I see the sun in your eyes and you make everyday a wonder…

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Be It Pen, Key Or Brush a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

~ thereluctantpoet

parallax

At dVerse De is hosting the Quadrille with an invitation to write using the word or its form – dab.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Dabbling In Poetry

Photo: pixabay.com

“Creativity takes courage.” Henri Matisse

Be It Pen, Key or Brush

Not everything must be real for its own sake,
licence is better in every art in the telling of a
story, more colour, or less, provokes a reaction,
a narrative of broad strokes and dabs be it pen,
key or brush, touches me deeply.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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A Spade Is More Than Itself – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

~ thereluctantpoet

parallax

At dVerse Mist is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write a poem describing an object.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Object Poems

Photo: harpersnurseries.com

“All my hurts my garden spade can heal.” Ralph Waldo Emerson 

A Spade Is More Than Itself

This is a story maker,
a dream builder of futures,
of kingdoms and complex lives,
weeding out the inconsistent
lines of irrelevance and tedium;
this is a creator of new things like 
turning over one's life and 
planting seeds of posterity,
to be remembered  among the 
vines of hope distilled as love;
this is my father, my family, my
friends, my neighbours and
with each thrust a memory
comes and grows.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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